Evanesco Winchester
by sweetondean
Summary: A spell gone wrong. An invisible brother. An existential crisis. A knitting circle. And the one thing all these things have in common: Dean Winchester


Dean looked in the mirror. At least he thought he was looking in the mirror, he was certainly standing in front of it. He leaned in closer, his breath making a tiny cloud of fog on the glass. It was the only evidence that he was there, that he existed, a tiny cloud of fog that was rapidly evaporating before his eyes. He glanced down at the floor where his feet usually were and stomped his boot. A thud echoed around the walls. Touching his stomach, he ran a hand up over his chest to his neck. He placed a palm on either side of his face, feeling the soft stubble catch against the rough skin of his fingers. He was warm. He was solid. But when he looked in the mirror all he saw was his room behind him, and Sam, eyes so wide they were practically on stalks.  
Dean wasn't there.  
Dean was invisible.

"Son of a bitch," he said, kicking out his leg and connecting with a discarded sock. It soared through the air as if by magic. "SON OF A BITCH!"

Sam stood in Dean's room, repeatedly squeezing his eyes shut and opening them again, like he couldn't believe what he was seeing, or in this case, wasn't seeing. "Um, D-Dean?" he stammered. "You're. Um. I think you're invisible!"  
Dean lifted his hands and waved them around, staring through their nothingness. "Ya think?" he said. "What the hell, Sam?" His voice had an unexpected quiver.  
"I was doing a spell."  
"A-ha."  
"I think it accidentally whammied you!"  
"No shit."  
"I didn't know you were about to walk into the room. I thought you were outside washing the car!"  
"I was, but I came in to get a beer and BOOM, suddenly I'm not here anymore."  
"You're here, Dean, we just err, we just can't see you right now."  
Dean rubbed an invisible hand down his invisible face and turned back towards the mirror, almost cringing before the rectangle of glass. He felt like he was there, and logically he knew he was. But the only thing he saw in front of him was a space where he used to be. He bit his invisible lip. "Why can't we see me?" he said. Panic was starting to buzz around the corners of his mind; he was doing his best to silence it, but this was wild even by his standards, and that was saying something.  
"I think… you're cloaked," Sam said, moving towards Dean's voice.  
"I'm what now?"  
"Cloaked. It was a cloaking spell…"  
"Cloaked? Like in Star Trek?"  
"What?"  
"Like in Star Trek. Like the Klingons use, so the Federation can't see their ships."  
Sam shook his head. "Sure Dean, like in Star Trek."  
"What were you cloaking?" Dean said. He hoped he sounded less worried than he was. He walked over to a wooden chair and sat down, his knees shaking a little.  
"The bunker. I found a spell that will cloak an entire building, then uncloak it as needed," Sam was still looking in the direction of the mirror.  
"Who ya talking to there, Sam," Dean said from the other side of the room.  
His brother jumped out of his skin. "Hilarious, Dean."  
Dean smirked, then sighed deeply when he remembered his brother couldn't see him. "Okay, so we just have to hit me with the uncloaking spell, right?" Dean stood and slowly tiptoed across the floor.  
Sam nodded at the empty chair. "Theoretically, yes."  
"Again, who ya talking to, Sammy?" Dean said, right into Sam's left ear.  
This time Sam jumped twice as high. He spun around and glared in the direction of Dean's laughter. "Having fun?"  
"Actually… Yes."  
"Well, I'm about to burst that bubble for you, Dean. Unfortunately, I haven't translated the uncloaking part of the spell yet. Still having fun? Dean… Dean?"  
Dean shot Sam his very-best, patented death stare.  
"If you're giving me your death stare, Dean, I can't see it."  
"Well that's just awesome." Dean huffed dramatically and dropped onto the end of his bed, sinking into the mattress, and creating a Dean shaped hole in the covers. "But…there's something I don't get," he mused. "How come my clothes are invisible? With the invisible man, you could see his clothes, and he wrapped bandages around his head, so you could see his head… Should I wrap bandages around my head?"  
"Well, for starters, the invisible man isn't real. Also, I'm not convinced that would work. I think the bandages would just vanish. I'm fairly sure you're _covered_ in the cloaking spell, so anything under that spell, anything that touches you, will disappear. Kinda like Harry Potter and the cloak of invisibility."  
"This is nothing like Harry Potter, Sam."  
"Technically, it's magic and you're invisible, so it's exactly like Harry Potter. Dean... Dean? Dean, if you're giving me your death stare again, I still can't see it."  
The hole in Dean's bed filled up as he stood, "I need a drink."  
"I might have to go on a beer run, then," Sam said. "I think we're about out."  
"I'll come with."  
"I don't think that's a good idea.  
"Why not?"  
"Look at you!"  
"Sam…"  
"You know what I mean."  
Sam could hear his brother breathing. Rapid gulps coming from the centre of the room. "I won't be long," Sam said. "Just… I won't be long, and then we'll figure it out, okay? Hang in there." He smiled encouragingly in what he hoped was Dean's general direction, before turning and disappearing into the hall.

Dean stood alone in the silence that followed. He took a furtive glance towards the mirror and was shocked all over again when he wasn't there. He'd been trying his best not to let on to Sam, but Dean was appropriately wigged out by today's strange turn of events. Sure, he'd imagined being invisible a million times. Who hadn't? It was definitely the super power he'd choose, if he was ever given the chance to choose one. But now that it'd randomly happened to him, now that he was actually invisible, he didn't like it. Not one bit. He felt like Marty McFly slowly vanishing from the photo. What if this was for keeps? What if Sam couldn't translate the "off" spell? Or worse, what if something happened to Sam, and he never came back? Would Dean be stuck like this? Existing, but not existing. There, but not there. Permanently…nothing. His heart began to pound in his ears.

"Hey!" Dean yelled, thundering down the bunker hall after Sam.  
Sam stopped abruptly causing Dean to slam straight into him with an almighty OOFF.  
"Dude! Signal before you stop." Dean said, massaging his head where it collided with his brother's rock-solid shoulder. "Anyway, I'm coming with you. Because… Because… Think of the fun we could have!"  
Sam didn't need to see Dean to read him. He could always see straight through his brother, invisible or otherwise. Dean was trying his best to mask his fear. The usual jokes. The usual bravado. All pointing to how scared he really was. Sam chewed on his cheek, knowing he was bound to regret what he was about to say…  
"Okay. You can come. But Dean, don't do anything stupid. People in town think we're weird enough."  
"What about I drive?" Dean said, suddenly perking up.  
"What about no."  
"Aww come on Sam, it'll be hilarious. It'll look like Baby's driving herself!"  
"Dean. No. If you must come, just… try to behave for a change."  
Dean gave Sam his best shit-eating grin. Then rolled his eyes when he remembered his brother couldn't see him.

"If you're gonna get out of the car, Dean, you're gonna have to slide across to the driver's side. You can't be opening the door."  
"Yeah, yeah," Dean grumbled.  
Sam pulled up on the street, parking outside the small supermarket/liquor store.  
Dean shimmied across Baby's bench seat and out on to the footpath. "Hey, we should check the mail while we're here," he said. "I ordered us a couple of new cards."  
"Dude. Shh. Remember, no-one can see you."  
"Right," Dean muttered, looking at the reflection in the shop window, and the empty space beside Sam where he should be.  
Sam walked into the post office, holding the door open long enough to feel the breeze of his brother stepping through.  
"Hi Marta," Sam said. "Any mail today?"  
Marta peered over her glasses around Sam, to where Dean was standing.  
"Where's that handsome brother of yours today?" she said.  
Sam glanced over his shoulder to where he knew Dean was.  
"He was right in the middle of a super difficult part in this sweater that he's knitting," Sam said, seeing a notice on the pin board for a knitting circle. "He just couldn't put it down!"  
Marta gasped. "Dean's a knitter? He's never mentioned it! I wouldn't have thought him for the crafty type. I knit myself, you know," she proudly ran a hand down her brightly coloured sweater.  
"Really? Well you should talk to him about it. He loves talking knitting. It's his favourite thing. Yacks my ear off! In fact, he's been looking for a knitter's group to join, if you know of one?"  
"I do!" Marta beamed. "Tracy from the Vista Theatre holds a circle once a month. Oh, the ladies would love to have him there." She was leaning across the counter, a look of sheer joy radiating across her usually stern face.  
"Well, jot down the information for me, Marta and I'll pass it on. But consider it a date. I know I can speak for Dean when I say, he'd like nothing more than to join you."  
Marta quickly scribbled an address on a pale pink post-it-note and handed it to Sam.  
"Oh, your mail," she said, pushing her glasses back up her nose. "I nearly forgot! The right address, but the wrong name again it seems. You boys get that a lot!"  
She handed Sam an envelope made out to D. Callahan.  
"Probably just a spelling mistake." He smiled at Marta and held the post-it-note up, waving it in the air as he opened the door. "I'll make sure Dean doesn't miss it, he's gonna be so thrilled." He tried not to laugh as he felt his brother storm passed.

"Knitting?" Dean whispered through gritted teeth, as he tailed Sam down the street. "Really, Sam? If you think I'm going to some stupid knitting circle…"  
"Marta will be broken hearted if you don't," Sam whispered back. "And I know how much you like her."  
Bastard, Dean thought. He did like Marta; she was a sweet woman. He knew she had a bit of a soft spot for him, so he always took the time to make her feel special. He listened to her news about her grandson, who frankly sounded like a little shit, even offering a bit of man to boy advice sometimes. He went as far as helping Marta pick out a birthday present for the kid. He wouldn't want to disappoint her. Or Tracy from the Vista Theatre for that matter, who was kinda hot... "Well, guess I have to go and be the one and only guy at the knitting circle," Dean said. "I can think of worse things than being fussed over by a bunch of women."  
Sam rolled his eyes. How was it that Dean could always turn a prank around on him? It was one of his special skills.

Sam stepped into the supermarket/liquor store and let go of the door. It swung back heavily into his brother, eliciting a protest of "Hey!" from Dean.  
Jackson, the shop owner looked up. "Hey!" he said, smiling at Sam.  
Dean followed Sam up and down the aisles, whispering instructions.  
"Get some Doritos, and some liquorice."  
"Dude, I'm not getting liquorice," Sam hissed.  
Dean grabbed a bag and held it to his body. To his happy surprise, Sam was right, the liquorice disappeared. "Okay then, if you won't buy it for me, I'll have to take it."  
"We're not stealing from Jackson!" Sam said, looking over his shoulder and seeing Jackson standing behind the counter, looking at him quizzically. Sam gave him a lame wave. "Give me the liquorice," he said, and snatched it out of mid-air as Dean tossed it across the aisle.  
Sam grabbed two six packs of beer and a bottle of scotch.  
"More beer," Dean whispered.  
Sam squared his shoulders, his pulse visibly throbbing in a vein in his neck. "Hey, Jackson," he called. "Would you mind grabbing me a case of beer from the cool room?"  
"Sure thing, Sam," Jackson said, still looking slightly suspicious.  
Sam turned and shoved the air where he was fairly certain his brother was. He connected, sending Dean flying into a shelf of beans.  
"Sorry. Sorry." Sam said, as Jackson rushed to see what the ruckus was. Cans of beans were rolling all over the floor and Sam was scrambling to pick them up. "I, um, bumped them."  
"It's okay," Jackson said, placing the box of beer on the counter. "Just leave it, I'll sort it out."  
Sam walked over to Jackson; his arms full of packets of varying size.  
"You having a party, Sam?"  
"No, my brother is at home, err, not feeling himself."  
"Well that's no good. Wish him better for me. And maybe suggest he eat some fruit or something!"  
As Jackson started to ring up the stash of snacks on the cash register, Sam heard a shuffling noise to his left and watched in horror as 10 value pack boxes of condoms miraculously appeared on the counter top. He didn't have time to get rid of them before Jackson turned around, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.  
"Ah, you sure you're not having a party, Sam?" Jackson said, eyeing the ridiculously large pile of prophylactics.  
Sam felt his face begin to burn, as it turned beet red. "Um. Better to be safe than sorry. If you really love her, wear a cover?" he mumbled, awkwardly.  
Dean slapped his hands over his mouth to stifle a giggle.  
"Good for you, Sam," Jackson said. "Nice to see a well prepared, respectful and responsible guy," he gave Sam a wink. "Oh, and speaking of, Tracy from the Vista Theatre has a bit of a thing for your brother. I mean, I can't blame her, even I think he's a pretty good-looking dude. Anyway, she's keen for him to ask her on a date, if he's so inclined. I told her I'd put in a good word. If you'd like to mention it?"  
"Yeah, sure. Sure Jackson." Sam said, groaning internally. "I'll let him know."

As soon as Dean was in the car, he burst out laughing. "Well, that was even more fun than I thought it would be! And you were right about the cloaking thing, those condoms just disappeared and reappeared like magic! I was the Trojan trojan horse!" Dean slapped his thigh at his clever joke.  
"Yeah, thanks for that. Now Jackson thinks I'm some kind of pervert."  
"Hey, he thinks you're a responsible guy. Could be worse."  
"Pffft. I suppose."  
"You never know Sammy, maybe you'll get the chance to put them to use. You could make water balloons out of them or something." Dean smacked his brother on the back, scaring the crap out of him.  
"Dude!"  
"Oh. Sorry, Sam."

For the next couple of days, Dean's mood remained buoyant. As Sam worked on translating the obstinate spell, Dean pre-occupied himself by tormenting his little brother. There were the classic pranks like, turning the hot water off and the cold on full blast, while Sam was under the shower. Or moving Sam's coffee cup out of reach, over and over and over and over; that one never seemed to get old. Dean would tap Sam on the shoulder, or drop a book on the table, just to see him jump. He blew on the back of Sam's neck until his brother finally got up to check that the door to the bunker was closed. Sam even bore an angry, raised welt on his head from where he crashed awkwardly to the floor after Dean tied his bootlaces together. In amongst all this, Dean even managed to be of some help to Sam, rummaging through files, searching out dusty old books in the Men of Letters storage area, throwing together a sandwich to keep his brother's hunger at bay. But as the invisibility crisis dragged through days towards a week, the elder Winchester became more and more despondent. Dean started to stay shuttered in his room, just venturing out to get food, or beer, or something stronger. Sam would check in on him every so often, only knowing his brother was actually there by the gaping hole in his bed, or the earphone cable appearing out of thin air, plugging in to Dean's phone on the side table.

Though he would never let on to Dean, Sam began to worry about his ability to translate the spell. There were a couple of words in the complex incantation he simply couldn't crack. More than once he tried what he hoped was the correct phrasing, only to be disappointed when his brother still wasn't there. By day six, Dean's anxiety was ratcheting up with every passing hour and there was nothing Sam could do about it.

Sam scratched out the conjuration on a pad for what felt like the 100th time, as Dean paced the floor. Beer disappearing one after the other, then reappearing as the bottles flew through the air towards the trash can.  
"I can hear you pacing. Can you sit down please? You're stressing me out."  
A chair pushed away from the table beside Sam and a bottle appeared, landing on a pile of discarded notes. "How much longer?" Dean said, agitation colouring his voice. "I feel weird Sam, like I'm never coming back. Could something be happening to me? Like I'm doing a Marty McFly? What if you never find the answer, or the spell can't be reversed? What if I'm stuck like this, Sammy?" He took an uneasy breath.  
Sam put down his pen and turned to face the empty space that should have been his brother.  
"I mean," Dean went on. "I've been thinking. I'm used to being invisible. The work we do. No one ever knows what we do. No one knows we saved the world or killed the devil or any of that stuff. For most people, we don't exist, just like they think the things we hunt don't exist. But for you and me, we exist. The work we do exists. We see the lives we save. We see the difference we make. We see each other. You see me. Clearer than anyone." The beer disappeared again, as Dean took another swallow. "I don't think I could handle never being seen again, Sammy," he said. "Who am I if I'm not me. Like the real me, solid, whole, see me in the mirror me. What if I'm invisible for the rest of our lives?" He stopped and inhaled a shaky breath.  
"Well, you'd be handy on a hunt," Sam said softly, trying to lighten the mood.  
"I'm serious, Sam. I'm having a moment here."  
"Sorry, Dean. I know you're serious, I know you are, and I know you're scared. But there's no reason to think any of that. You're not going all Back to the Future. There's nothing in the spell that suggests you could vanish permanently. You're not gonna disappear forever, I promise. And even if you were invisible, you'd still be here, I'd know you were here, I'd hear you, and I'd sense you, just like I am now. And I'd still be here. We'd still be here. Nothing would change." Sam paused for a moment, listening as Dean's breathing began to calm, before adding, "Except I wouldn't have to look at your ugly face."  
"Ha ha, you're a riot, Sam." But if Sam could have seen his brother, he would have seen he was smiling. "Anyway," Dean added. "Jackson thinks I'm good-looking,"  
The brothers laughed.  
"Look," Sam said. "I know it's taking a bit longer than either of us anticipated, but I'm nearly there, I promise you Dean. I'm close. So how about you leave me to it, and before you know what's happened, hey presto, you'll be back to normal."  
"Hey presto. Very funny." The chair slid back across the floor. "Maybe I'll go to bed, leave you to your…hey presto."  
"Good idea, I'll see you in the morning."  
"Here's hoping."  
Sam heard heavy footsteps as his brother left the room.

Sam looked at the spell one more time, this had to be it, because if it wasn't, they were in deep trouble. He put a call in to Rowena just in case, but as she was off the grid on some road trip with Charlie, he hoped he wasn't going to need her. Holding the last ingredient over the bowl, he took a deep breath and spoke the words that had taken him so damn long to master. "Cum ecce magis hi simul videbunt. Dona summum. Denuda turpitudinem ad oculum. Rursus sanabunt." As he crumbled the final herb into the mixture he whispered, "Hey presto."

Sam sat alone at the table in the bunker kitchen, a small tumbler of whiskey in his hand. It had been a rough week, followed by an ugly hunt. A nest of vampires had foolishly set up house only fifty miles south of Lebanon, Kansas. Stupid. Even for vampires. It didn't take much to put them down, but after spending so many nights trying to break that accursed spell, it was the last thing he needed. Sam was wiped out. He rubbed his eyes and took a swallow of the amber liquid, making a hissing noise through his teeth as the alcohol's heat ran down the back of his throat.

Dean strolled into the room looking fresh as a daisy. He was showered and had on his good black jeans, the ones with no holes in the knees, with a red and black plaid shirt over a black t-shirt. His boots even looked as if they'd been cleaned, and unless Sam was mistaken, he was wearing aftershave.  
"You wearing perfume?" Sam said.  
"Take a whiff," Dean said, offering his brother his neck.  
"Get off me." Sam elbowed Dean away. "What's going on? Why you all dressed up? And what's in there?" He nodded towards the bag casually slung over his brother's shoulder.  
"That, Sammy, is my knitting."  
"Your….?"  
"Knitting. It's knitting circle night."  
"You're kidding me."  
"I am not."  
"You're going to the knitting group?" Sam gaped at his brother, a mass of wrinkles collecting in an astonished swirl in the middle of his forehead.  
"Knitting circle, Sam. If you remember, I was invited, and as you so rightly said, I wouldn't want to disappoint Marta. Or Tracy from the Vista Theatre. Who's hot for me." He shot his brother a toothy grin. "And maybe if you're lucky Sammy," Dean was on a role. "I'll knit you a scarf, for those long, cold, lonely nights ahead of you. When I'm at knitting circle. Surrounded by ladies."  
Sam had to laugh. Dean could turn pretty much any situation in his favour. It was one of his special skills.  
"Oh, and hey, Sam," Dean added, as he headed towards the door. "I was thinking, maybe next time we go to town you can be the invisible one, and we'll see if we can get the 411 on you, huh?"  
"Will you get out of here!" Sam said, a grin spreading across his face. He watched as his brother casually sauntered out of the room and thought how damn happy, he was to see the back of him. No, really. The back of him. The front of him. The side of him. Sam was so happy to _see_ Dean.

-FIN


End file.
